


Nothing But Dreams

by stars28



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Drunken Confessions, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 21:56:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12177291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stars28/pseuds/stars28
Summary: D’Artagnan fell in love with each of the ‘Inseparables’ in turn. Each for a different reason.





	Nothing But Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title from ‘Champion’ by Fall Out Boy.

** I Follow You.  
**

_“Gotta move for your touch_  
_Gotta keep my lips shut_  
_I'll do what you tell me to_  
_Cause in darkness I follow you…”_  
**\- Worship, Years & Years.**

Athos, d’Artagnan reflected, was an excellent leader. No matter how much the older man believed that he wasn’t fit for such a responsibility sometimes. D’Artagnan trusted Athos to get himself, Porthos and Aramis out of any kind of trouble, especially after earning the King’s commission thanks to the heroic actions of Athos and his friends. After the misunderstanding between himself and Athos had been sorted out, they’d become friends. Nowhere near on the level of Aramis, Porthos and Athos, not yet, but there was a tentative friendship forming between the two of them.

D’Artagnan found this friendship beginning to take root in his heart over the weeks and months. The build from friendship to love was so slow, it took him several weeks for him to realise that he was staring at Athos whenever they rode somewhere on Treville’s orders, plus an additional week to figure out why he kept staring at Athos’s muscular shoulders and what the unfamiliar feelings in his chest were. It was love. When he’d finally figured it out, d’Artagnan had to lie down on his bed, his knees shaking in shock. He stared at the ceiling, trying to focus on something other than Athos. It was to no avail, the older man drifted into his thoughts without him consciously letting him in.

He found himself finding more comfort and pride in the causal touches and words Athos gifted him with than he used to. From Athos’s plump lips, his own name sounded like praise, causing a shiver to go down his spine. When Athos offered a hand on his shoulder, it took all his self-restraint _not_ to lean into the comforting pressure. He looked at Athos’s lips and wondered what it would be like to kiss him and then felt intensely guilty because there was no way Athos felt the same way he did. Still, in his dreams, he kissed Athos with mutual pleasure in mind, his hand caressing through Athos’s hair.

~

**Losing Sense Of Time.**

_“Keeping me awake,_  
_It's been like this now for days,_  
_My heart is out at sea,_  
_My head all over the place,_  
_I'm losing sense of time…”_  
**\- Always Attract, You Me At Six.**

Aramis and Athos were as different as could be in personality and yet, d’Artagnan found himself attracted to Aramis as well. Due to his ongoing infatuation with Athos, he was able to recognise the signs of attraction. It was just the basics to begin with: watching Aramis as he shot, his arms tense and gaze focused; sideways glances as the other man rode next to him, Aramis’s fingers clasped tightly around his horse’s reins. Simple, almost non-existent.

Even when Aramis was using his medical skill on either him or one of their friends, d’Artagnan found himself watching those careful fingers, capable of fixing up almost any hurt that may befall them. When it was him being stitched up, he felt an unmistakable bolt of heat rush through his body that had nothing to do with the pain radiating from the injury.

When it came for them to go to sleep, d’Artagnan lay in his bed, thinking about Aramis’s fingers and what they could do to him. He could almost feel them running up his spine, leaving a trail of heat, and muffled his groan with his pillow. He imagined Aramis’s beard scratching at his chin as they kissed, lips against lips. He had no idea how long he spent picturing hopeless dreams of himself and Aramis, only that before long the sun began to rise again. Time meant nothing when compared with the dream he’d had running through his mind.

He foresaw many more sleepless nights ahead of him. He was attracted to Aramis. In a different way to Athos, but it was in no way less.

~

**Get Used.**

_“Do what you want tonight,_  
_It's alright_  
_If you want to get used…”_  
**\- Take Shelter, Years & Years.**

D’Artagnan wished he could say that he had some doubts about taking Porthos home after a night out drinking, but he didn’t. It was too late, his attraction to Athos and Aramis had extended to Porthos too when he hadn’t been paying attention. He didn’t regret it; Porthos was an imposing figure but he truly had a heart of gold.

He left Athos in the more than capable hands of Aramis (the thought of his hands touching Athos made d’Artagnan’s blood run hot), and began the task of leading Porthos to his dwellings. It was more difficult than usual due to the amount of alcohol in both himself and Porthos. They staggered along the empty streets of Paris until they reached Porthos’s rooms, at which point Porthos began to dig around in his pockets for his key. D’Artagnan observed silently, feeling the warmth of the other man directly next to him, as Porthos opened the door and then pulled him inside. He was shocked, but then dimly recalled something Aramis had said once, about Porthos and sleeping when drunk – he didn’t like sleeping alone. At the time, d’Artagnan’s head had nearly exploded, picturing Aramis and Athos in turn, sleeping in the same bed as Porthos. Maybe even all three of them in a single bed.

He supposed it was his turn. Dreamlike, he watched as the taller man drunkenly stripped himself of his clothes, exposing skin marred with scars, but all the more beautiful for them. He shook his head, clearing it a little, and took his own clothes off, leaving himself in his smallclothes before taking a step towards the large bed which dominated the room. (The thought of Porthos, Athos and Aramis in that bed, pressed against each other, so intertwined that one could barely tell one of them began and another ended, was nearly d’Artagnan’s undoing.)

A warm hand grasped his wrist – it was Porthos – and dragged him to the bed. He took care to observe the wide smile on Porthos’s face and gulped inaudibly. What he’d give to see that directed at him more often. As he and Porthos sunk into the bed, d’Artagnan shifted so that he was on the very edge. It meant getting Porthos to remove his hand from his wrist, which in truth, d’Artagnan didn’t want at all. The warmth and weight was pleasant.

Porthos made a disgruntled sound and reached out for him again. Before d’Artagnan knew what was going on, he was pressed against Porthos, a heavy arm laying along his shoulders, preventing him from moving. He shuddered, trying to take in every inch of Porthos’s body pressed against him, a warm and comforting presence. He accepted the fact that he’d sleeping in direct contact with Porthos all night, trying to stop the thrumming of blood around his body.

When morning came, d’Artagnan woke before Porthos. Headache buzzing in his head, he got up and retrieved his clothes. He dressed with brutal efficiency, picking his boots up from by the door, and snuck out of the room after taking one last look at Porthos, who was sprawled across the bed, covers down to his waist.

He felt like his heart was breaking as he left the room behind. He didn’t feel like he could go to the garrison and act like normal around the men he loved, but knew that he would have to or be noticed by the men in question.

~

**Count My Sins.**

_“So I bare my skin_  
_And I count my sins_  
_And I close my eyes_  
_And I take it in_  
_And I'm bleeding out_  
_I'm bleeding out for you (for you)…”_  
**\- Bleeding Out, Imagine Dragons.**

“My sins are numerous.” D’Artagnan whispered, cradling his half-empty bottle of wine in both of his hands, the alcohol in his veins emboldening him to say such things. The privacy of Athos’s room undoubtedly contributed towards his boldness as well.

His companions looked at him. Athos questioned, “D’Artagnan?”

Their gaze caused a self-decrepitating laughter to emerge from d’Artagnan’s mouth. Three sets of brows creased in concern. But they’re not concerned in the way d’Artagnan _wanted_ them to be. This was merely friendship, not, as he wished, lovers. They would never be that to him.

He shut his eyes against the appealing sight of them in partial undress, mumbling, “Never mind, I’ve said too much.”

There was a moment of silence between the friends before the creak of a chair alerted him to one of them getting up and approaching him, where he was sitting against a wall. A hand was placed on his arm and d’Artagnan thought hysterically, that he was deeply in love with his friends if he could tell it was Aramis just by the weight and warmth of a hand. There was no going back to being just friends, at least not for him.

“Yes Aramis?” He said, sighing but making no move to dislodge the gentle hand.

“What do you mean, you’ve said too much?” Aramis asked, voice quiet in the room.

D’Artagnan could feel the weight of Athos’s and Porthos’s gazes on him, and, instead of making him feel uncomfortable, it made him feel loved, even if not in the way he longed for. He laughed, feeling tears spring to his eyes.

“Exactly that.”

“D’Artagnan, that’s not an answer.” Athos spoke up.

“I know.” He said lowly, “But I don’t want you to hate me.”

Another hand fell on his arm. Porthos. The night d’Artagnan spent wrapped in his arms was one of the best nights he’d ever had and he was sure it would never happen again. The words raced across his mind, _I love you_ , and he unconsciously mouthed them. He’d wanted to tell them for so long. It’d been months since he realised he was in love with Athos.

“I love you? What?” Porthos said.

D’Artagnan’s eyes snapped open in horror, barely taking note of Athos, who was now hovering above him, “How – how do you _know_?”

Athos was the one who answered, “You just mouthed them.”

“Oh God.” He dropped his bottle of wine, headless of the resulting crash and the cries of Porthos and Aramis, and put his head in his hands, letting the tears flow without shame. “I was never meant to tell you.”

“Tell who?” Aramis said, confusion on his face.

“All of you! I’m in love with each of you! God help me!” He kept crying, ashamed that he couldn’t keep it together. He’d been doing so well. His friends would hate him now for certain. There was no way they’d keep him around, not when he _loved_ them. He’d have to go back to Gascony, give up his place as a Musketeer.

“D’Artagnan?”

He blinked, wiping tears away uselessly with a hand, and looked up to Aramis, who was smiling. Why was he smiling?

“Yes?”

“We are your friends.” Aramis said, accompanying his words with a gentle squeeze, “And we shall remain your friends, no matter what your feelings towards us.”

“W-what?” D’Artagnan was shocked at Aramis’s words, even as the marksman let go of his shoulder and stood up. Moments after, Athos took his place.

“What Aramis says is true, my friend.” Athos said, looking into d’Artagnan’s eyes, “We will still want you around.”

Instead of saying anything, Porthos simply gave d’Artagnan’s shoulder an almost painful squeeze, somehow getting all his feelings across wordlessly.

He felt a tentative smile appear on his face and Porthos grinned back. He blinked sluggishly, the relief and _love_ for these three men coursing through his body combining with the excess of alcohol he’d consumed, making him tired.

Just before his eyes slid shut, he heard Athos say, “Sleep, my friend. We will be here.”

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve got Fresher’s Flu, despite being in second year. *sigh* Still, comments and kudos are lovely!


End file.
